You dropped me at the station,
I remember the sense of triumph:
old feet marching toward the immobile train,
dashing on to prevent more time spent
waiting for the next.
Yes, I did it, I thought,
sinking into my seat and pulling out
my eighty-five-cent senior ticket.
I caught my breath,
took some deep swigs of air.
Watched your car roll away.
Breathing in rhythm to the slow
startup of the engine, when, in a flash,
I realized my phone sat by my bathroom sink.
Where I had left it in my rush to bolt out the door.
I envisioned the phone posted there alone.
No way to tell anyone its whereabouts.
My heartbeat sped up.
My breath, a runaway train.
How would I solve this problem?
Only a decade ago, a non-issue?
Never mind surfing the web or reading the paper,
how would I even let you know what time I’d be returning?
Pay phones have disappeared.
I envied everyone around me fingering a smart phone.
Clearly, my phone was smart, and I was not.
My mind struggled to fix the predicament
while I admonished it and my stomach,
that was starting to churn,
to slow down, make space for reason.
My body delivered an answer
as it hopped toward a random passenger.
Asked if I could use his phone to call or text.
His assent reassured me that I could later ask a stranger
a second time.
My being calmed as I entertained the idea
of being unplugged,
reliving life before web and cell.
My contentment spilled into fingertips and toes.
I danced defiant, liberated till day closed!
Lynn Benjamin
September 2, 2015